Legend
by Greaserfreak
Summary: Written for the March WSOTT rumble. Patterson watches as a crowd gathers around the Motorcycle Boy's body. He always thought the boy was just a hood, but to the crowd, he was a legend.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.

Legend

Patterson watched as a small crowd gathered around the seventeen year old kid who was now laying dead in the damp grass with a few fish next to him. He had been the one who had fired the two warning shots and felt only a small sense of relief when the kid feel to the ground. Maybe now everyone would see the kid for who he really was, another punk trying to run the streets. At least that's what Patterson thought until that night.

For the past few years, Patterson had watched that kid wander the streets. Sometimes alone and other times with that younger brother of his. There was always something unusual about the kid. Something that Patterson could never quite get his finger on, but assumed wasn't good. After all, the boy dressed just like all the other no good hoodlums that roamed the streets. Surely, this boy was no different.

"I'm sending the younger one to the hospital," another cop on the scene said to Patterson. "Cut up his hand pretty bad when he put it through that window."

"The kid's probably on dope," Patterson mumbled in an attempt to convince himself that his words were true.

"He doesn't look like he's on anything," the other cop commented. "Only confused and maybe a little scared."

Patterson didn't reply as he looked back at the older brother. The crowd seemed to be getting bigger and he didn't have the energy to tell them to leave. Instead, he watched with curiosity. Trying to figure out what these people saw in the kid.

"What happened?" A few people asked, but Patterson didn't answer. He could only lean against his car and watch as people looked at the kid as if they were already at the funeral.

"I don't believe it," someone said and Patterson turned to see one of the younger brother's friends standing a few feet away. "If it were anyone else, I might be able to believe it, but the Motorcycle Boy?"

"You knew him?" Patterson asked, even though he really didn't care to have an answer.

"Everybody knows the Motorcycle Boy," the kid replied. "He's kind of a legend around here."

"I don't know about that," Patterson said, not wanting to believe the kid.

"He wasn't what you would consider normal, that's for sure," the kid commented.

"All you kids are alike," Patterson told him. "Everyone of you is just trying to find a way to run the streets."

"Maybe," the kid agreed to Patterson's surprise. "But the Motorcycle Boy wasn't like everyone else. I can't explain it, but he was different from anyone I know."

"I doubt that," Patterson said. "Look at him, he's no different than you."

"On the outside," the kid said. "But if you spent any time around him, you would have known that he was different. He had something about him that seemed to attract people to him, even though he wasn't one to go out and make friends."

"I noticed that," Patterson admitted. "Caught him watching the river a few times on the bridge. I don't think I've ever seen anyone else do that unless they were with him."

"He liked the river," the kid replied. "His brother used to tell me that. Where is Rusty-James anyway? I would think that he would be here."

"He had to go to the hospital to get some stitches," Patterson said. "Stupid kid put his hand through my car window."

The kid shrugged and joined the crowd while Patterson continued to watch the scene. He wasn't sure if he wanted to believe that the Motorcycle Boy as the kid had called him was a legend. After all, he was only a seventeen year old boy. What was so special about that?

Patterson heard more people talk about the Motorcycle Boy as the night went on. Even after the body had been removed, people seemed to continue to show up. It was as if word had spread even though the paper wouldn't be out for several hours. He wasn't sure why so many people wanted to pay last respects to a kid who hadn't done anything to receive such a response, but they showed up anyway.

"I told you he was a legend," the kid he had talked to said as he walked past, probably heading to his home.

Patterson sighed as he finally got into his car and started the engine. Maybe the Motorcycle Boy was a legend or maybe he was just a kid who was misunderstood. The only thing Patterson knew for sure was that the kid was dead and that the town had lost what they thought was their savior. Part of him felt sorry for the Motorcycle Boy after all, the kid never asked to be the town's leader. He wasn't even sure why the boy had become the leader of so many people. The kid certainly didn't appear like he wanted to lead. In fact, if Patterson wasn't mistaken, the Motorcycle Boy always seemed to be the type who wanted to be alone. Certainly not the type who would lead others and definitely not someone who could save the town from whatever they thought they needed saving from. He was nothing more than a seventeen year old kid who had his life cut too short and that was the only thing that Patterson could admit to himself as he drove home that night.


End file.
